In Transit

Doors closing, knobs stuck.
Windows creaking, gasping for air,
A sound of promise, a sound of scare.

Stepping into the sun,
Scars and beauty for all to see.
Gazing into the mirror,
Who am I meant to be?

Green, grey, tinges of red,
Some smoke, more fire.
To where am I being lead?
Is it my heart or my head?

I miss you, Silence
With your blanket of warmth and steady gaze.
Luck has seized your place
With its flashes of light,
As I seek you out in a pointless maze.

Leaves pass by, their destinies fulfilled.
Will I always be roaming and uncertain like tomorrow?
Or will I reach my stop,
And like ink on paper, forever be stilled.

My very 1st published Article

Woohoo...I did it... A landmark in any media person's career...finally got my 1st article published...that too online!! Yay! Huge thanks to Rintu and Noel Sir!
My first article

Working Mommas: Jugglers like no other!

   

   I don't know how she does it? is a film with Sarah Jessica Parker playing the role of a working mother of two children and how she successfully and effectively manages her domestic and professional life. It may seem slightly glamorised and sugar coated but does capture the essence of what a single or married woman goes though in order to balance both her career and family.

   Opening with perspectives of Kate, name of Parker's character, by her best friend, colleague and other mothers, the viewer gets intrigued by the unique documentary style rarely used by directors to provide a better understanding of Kate and her impressive “juggling skills.” One can relate to this film and its message because of its universality. Because in this modern age women have made their mark in every field and are no longer bound to the four wall perimeter of their houses. So one does not realise or often takes for granted the responsibility and organisation skills a working mother possesses. Somehow they ensure and continue to ensure a smooth and hassle-free environment without comprising anyone else's needs except for maybe some of their own. The perfect instance of their exclusive management skills is the lists they create and review before their day begins or when the day ends. It could range from home improvement to finance statements, school projects or birthday gifts, dry cleaning pick-up or soccer matches. All in all, it is a complicated system which only they can follow and comprehend.

   It was a refreshing change to see the husband in the film played by Greg Kinnear to not always be supportive and understanding of his wife's hectic and unpredictable work schedule, sometimes leaving him to take up more responsibilities than he could manage thereby affecting the smooth running of his work life. His frustration and anger displays the typical response which any husband would feel when he notices that his and his children's lives are getting disrupted, all because the wife/mother has “lost sight of her priorities.”

   At this point in time, the lady as usual is forced to make a choice, her successful career at the cost of irreplaceable family memories, or family at the cost of her independence and hard work put in to reach her present position at work? As usual, I was expecting the clichéd and socially encouraged result but this film surprised me and instead put the message across that a working lady need not make a choice. She can be committed to both without compromising either, and this is the secret of success which all working women keep. A huge round of applause to working mommas the world over for doing what they do so well and never failing to do so!

   How they do they do it is the question, but for me it turned out to be the answer.

Take a bow ladies, you truly deserve it!

Give One Receive Two...

   As far as I can remember meeting Thirumeni Appacha and visiting him at the seminary, he would support and encourage us to be the best we can be and reward us for being considerate. He would have a packet of toffees ready by his side, and ask either my brother or me, to offer everyone in the room one. And in the end, whoever distributed the sweets would get two. It was a very simple yet profound way of explaining a very lost yet important lesson.

   To me this was my most treasured memory and how I remember Thirumeni Appacha. His generous nature and witty humour never ceased to amaze me. I feel extremely privileged and blessed to be his great-grand niece. The only regret that I have is that I was not able to convey how intelligent and well-informed he is with current events. He was very happy to hear that I took up journalism and I feel disappointed that I never got the chance to interview such a dynamic personality. Hopefully, this contribution will make up for what I could not do earlier.

   On behalf of myself and my family, I would like to thank him immensely for giving us the greatest gift of all, that is being someone who was unselfish and kind in a world which seems to discourage any kind of charity. We will miss you very much. Your prayers and blessings have been a major part of what I have achieved today, and for that I am truly grateful.

Backwater Ripples...home at last Part 3

The next few days, seemed to be the happiest ones of my life. Anand was mine, and I was his. I felt as if I was walking on air or floating on a cloud. It was only later that I realized that it was the calm before the storm. All was well till I was with my grandmother in the dining room with the Thamburan, Thamburati, Anand and his two sisters. The Thamburan announced that as Anand was the eldest son in the family, he would be taking up the title once he died. As everyone applauded, I saw an odd gleam in Anand's eyes which I had never seen before. His face lost its boyish charm and became contorted with haughtiness and greed. When he looked at me and I smiled at him, I detected a trace of icy indifference and incredulity. I had a feeling that something had changed and it was beyond my control. Even his sisters and their personal help seemed to be looking at me so contemptuously, I was never on friendly terms with them to begin with, but I did not do anything to deserve this kind of disregard. Would they have come to know about me and Anand? Would he have told them? Would he really be that mean and selfish? Oh no, does Ammumma know?

I was so preoccupied with the euphoric effect that I completely overlooked how my grandmother would react and what may happen to her. Later that night, I heard a clanging of metal, sounded like pots and pans falling down in the kitchen. I rushed there because I knew how Ammumma had a habit of arranging the kitchen when she could not fall asleep. And she had been restless and behaving unusually passive since the king's announcement. When I reached the large kitchen with its gleaming vessels and earthy aromas, to my horror I saw many steel bowls and pots askew near my grandmother's unconscious body. My screams for help awoke the entire household, and almost immediately the doctor arrived and by that time Ammumma was in her room on the bed. The doctor's face was expressionless, but I could feel that it was not going to be good news. After what seemed like an eternity, he told the Thamburan that family should be called, she had a heart attack and did not have much time left. I felt like my entire world which was suspended by a single thread, had fallen and smashed to pieces. Her eyes began to flutter, and I heard a mutter a faint, “Gopika?” I rushed to her side and squeezed her hand, but the strength which she held mine was minimal in comparison to when she picked me up from the station. Her face looked drawn and pinched, her snow white hair looked flaccid and limp, and her eyes' lustre was dimming. Nevertheless, she still smelled of sandalwood, jasmine and coconut oil. She wanted to tell me something, I knew it, so when my face was close to hers, she told me something that I would never forget, “Gopika, my dearest child, I know you better than yourself, and I know about you and Anand, I am not disappointed, I feel hurt that you didn't tell me before. But you must have thought I would have scolded you, isn't it? I may have. I'm not as strong as I used to be, my body just can't keep up with my iron will. Listen to me carefully, you will be facing some of your hardest days so no matter what, stick to your beliefs and remember I will always be proud of you. I hate that I will not be with you in person to be your comfort and support, but I will always be with you in spirit. Your life is just about to begin and I know you will do very well, I can feel it. You may not think that you are capable or bright or brave, but I can see the spark in you, so make sure you never let it die and do no let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you so much I...”, and then her hand fell from mine, she closed hey eyes, and left me.

I had never felt so lost and alone, I felt like a part of me had gone with her. Emptiness was the word. A hollowed out shell, with nothing left to offer. And just when I thought that my life could not get any worse, Anand met me a few hours later in the garden. He told me that he was sorry about Ammumma and that he would miss her also, and then he said, “ Gopika, every day my father is getting older and weaker and I am slowly learning how to be a responsible leader. And as the burden of responsibilities increases, small sacrifices have to be made, and one has to move on with life. I hope you can understand what I am trying to say. Are you?”

“I am not sure. What are you trying to say?”

“I am saying that in my future, there is no place for us to be together. If you had not noticed, my sisters and all the other servants know. And they have started talking, luckily it can be dealt within our compound, but I cannot let it go any farther. My reputation...”

“Stop right there! What about my reputation?! Or do I not have the right to one because I am just a servant?! Why didn't you think of this earlier? Well, I am sorry if your ego has been hurt. But let me tell you, if I had been in your place, I would have had the strength and courage to face my family, because I had loved you that much. But had you ever loved me to begin with? Or was I just some casual...?

“ Listen, you shouldn't be making such an issue about this, okay? But I cannot risk my future. But if you still want to be with me, I can try and keep this hushed up, maybe even after my marriage, we can...”

“You're getting married.”

“Yes. To my father's sister's daughter. I have only seen her when I was 10 and she was 8, but I have heard she is educated and very well-off. So if you want, we can arrange to..”

I slapped him, with all the strength I could muster, across that face which I had once fallen for. “How dare you? Just because you are going to be king you think you can treat me like some concubine? I may just be your nanny's granddaughter but I deserve to be treated with some respect. I pity your to be, not because she has to spend the rest of her life with you, but because she has to live with your greed and ego! I promise you, you will never hear from me again.”

With that, I left him, gawking like a donkey and with my tears blinding and fogging my vision, I packed my things and left the wretched place. I intended to leave, but now without my grandmother and Anand, who I thought to be the love of my life, the entire place seemed to be cursing my presence. The friendly green haven which had once been welcoming had become stifling and overbearing.

I set out for the heart of the city and decided to find a job as a typist somewhere. Luckily, I landed a job with a small publication company and even found accommodation in a working woman's hostel ten minutes away. During these months, I started writing poetry and short stories to vent my feelings. I did not have anyone to tell it to, and on doing so, it brought me a sense of relief and calm.

          This was my first poem. In all my frustration and anger, which I had no other way to express, gave birth to these lines.

The Thorn

The light may dim

But the stars till shine

The sun still rises

and wounds heal with time

The scars may fade from my skin

But the one you made,

Will always remain, within

The one who should stay has gone,

I did not know, that she would go.

Her old face full of pain,

Your face full of greed,

How I wish it was you God had freed.

I became the sacrifice,

I was the thorn in your side,

Not that I am cast away,

From you and love,

I will forever hide.

My new boss was Arjun Nair, owner of Vishal Publications, was quite a friendly man . He always joking with my fellow colleagues and generally very approachable. Mr. Nair, what I called him, was tall and lanky. I heard him singing once for one of the Onam functions and he had a voice which nearly took my breath away. Three years ago, his collection of poetry was published. It was in English, and recently, had been translated into Malayalam. It had become an instant best-seller, and using his earnings, started this publication house. I had a copy of that which I read from cover to cover and soon became a prized possession. Being such an educated and accomplished person, he never treated me like his inferior and it was quite refreshing. When he saw that I had become bored with my job, he promoted me to being his personal secretary. And now, he relied on me for his personal and professional appointments. Ever since, I got promoted, I took an effort to learn English, I would listen to the BBC report on the radio every day. I had even bought a book to teach me the language. Mr. Nair saw me scribbling in my poetry book one day and asked me if he could see what I had written, I handed the book over and told him that it may not be that good because it was just an outlet for my feelings. He smiled and began to read. As he turned the pages, his smile vanished and his gaze became intense, I was wondering whether my work was that bad.

             He asked me, “why had you been keeping such a talent hidden to these pages? You work in a publication house, surely it would have crossed your mind to at least submit a draft? Or at least show them to me? I though we were closer than that Gopika?”

“I did not think that they would be good enough. That is why I kept it to myself.”

“Well, you have to learn to share, because if I know poetry, and I think I do, your book will be a best-seller. And I take it upon myself to ensure that it does. This is my promise to you.”

Three years later

Toronto, Canada

         Gopika was staring out her window, snowflakes were falling, and the once copper-red maple trees, had become bare with their leaves scattered on the road like pennies gleaming against the morning sun. Arjun had left for the airport that morning, his meeting with the Indian publication heads was that evening in Mumbai. She was proud that his publication house had become so successful. He called her his lucky charm because it was her volume of poetry and short stories that shot her and his publications to fame. After the English translation was released in 1957, it became an international best-seller and was nominated for the Man-Booker prize. It was an unforgettable year, she and Arjun became closer, through everything. He was always supportive even during her mood swings and unreasonable demands during the book tours and promotions. And on 23^rd September, her 23^rd birthday, he proposed. They had a huge Malayalee Hindu wedding, and moved to Toronto where he opened another branch. And this time he named it Gopika Publications, a publications house which gave a chance to upcoming writers.

“Amma!Where is my crayon boox?”

         The question brought her back to present day, as she turned to see her three year old son, Nihal, in his batman pajamas and colouring book in his round chubby hand.

“Your box is on your shelf, next to your aeroplane, remember you kept it there?”

“Oh yeah, thanks Amma, I forgot.”

             Running off to his room, Gopika smiled and headed to the living room with the day's newspaper and mug full of coffee in hand. She opened the newspaper and saw in the international section that the Kerala royal family had gone bankrupt and was going through a rough period. After the marriage of the Thamburan, he had taken to gambling. He was not able to have any children and he blamed his new wife. Then he turned to alcohol to drown his sorrows. She left him eventually and soon he started showing signs of depression and insanity. The sisters married out of the royal family so it seemed that the line would soon be at an end. Gopika was smiling to herself, when Nihal plopped into her lap, and asked her, “Amma, why are you smiling?” Before she could answer, he said, “ Could you read me one of your stories?” He had her book, Backwater Ripples, in his hand and opened it to the Acknowledgments page.

     It was written: To my grandmother who taught me to believe in myself and my first love who taught me the meaning of sacrifice and how to overcome all odds.

“Amma, was Appa your first love,” he asked me while looking up at me with those familiar brown eyes. Would I  ever tell him that he was the last surviving heir to the throne in Trivandrum?

Backwater Ripples...The royal romance continues Part 2

      Over the next few weeks, I ran into Anand in the halls or outside near the jasmine bushes, and without fail I would immediately turn dumb and blush a deep crimson. But one day, or rather one evening, when the entire royal family accompanied by my grandmother, went out for a temple festival, I stayed back to enjoy the serenity and beauty which I could never savor, because of some work or the other. I found a small pathway. Led by round smooth-faced rocks peeking out like grey turtles in the ground, I finally came to a pool of emerald green with the path ending in moss plundered cement steps. Hidden among the shade of the coconut palms, the water seemed almost frozen, and yet was inviting me to take a refreshing dip. Going against all my instincts, I stepped in, and relished the cool feel of water lapping against my skin. Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone cleared their throat. Immediately, I turned around to see, who else, but Anand standing on the steps, with a strange smile playing on his lips, and an even more strange look in his eyes. We held each other's gaze for more than what seemed like an eternity to me. Till finally, I summoned the courage to ask, “Didn’t you go with your family to the temple?”

“Oh, so you can talk,”Anand replied with a combination of sarcasm and delight in his voice, “Well, I was about to, and then I saw you walking towards my favourite place, and thought that I should come and charge you for trespassing.”

“Is that right,” I asked with one eyebrow raised, “and where exactly is it written that this place is exclusively yours?”

“Right here on these steps, with the moss as my witness. Why don’t you come out and look for yourself,” he asked with a naughty look in his eye.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? And what if I don’t?”

“In that case, I would I have to join you and convince that everything in this place is mine,” at that time he looked at me and said, “well, not everything, not yet anyway.”

I lowered my gaze and that familiar blush crept in. My heart began to thud loudly like drums where the beat races faster and faster every second. And when I looked up, I saw Anand walking towards the water and more importantly, towards me. I stood frozen in the water and looked at him with the most surprising expression on face as he came closer and closer. He was only centimeters away from me. I could feel his breath and was almost losing myself in the depths of his brown eyes, till he spoke, “Your bewitching eyes outdo the emerald green of this pool and the fragrant green lush of the palm leaves. And if you make them any bigger, they may fall out.” As he said this, he held his palms as if to catch them. I was speechless. It was the first time someone, other than my grandmother, had ever complimented me. My eyes began to tear and it took all my effort to not cry, with happiness of course, and managed to whisper a tremulous, “Thank you, I think you have a way with words.” And with me, I thought to myself. He smiled at me and as if reading my mind he replied, with his velvet smooth voice, “I think you have a way with me.” Before I could react, his arms pulled my waist closer to his and his lips met mine in a sweet yet heart fluttering kiss. My arms went around his neck as his went up and down my back, sending tingles up and down my spine. The feeling was warm and pure yet thrilling and forbidden.

Forbidden? How could I forget? He was the prince, I was just a lowly servant, his nanny’s granddaughter. This cannot and should not be happening. I pulled away and saw what I thought to be love and devotion in his eyes for me. And before I knew it, he carried me to a patch of grass near the south end of the pool, and laying me down, with his body just over mine, confessed, “I have wanted you ever since I saw you alight from that tonga. I knew I was crazy about you when you blushed after I asked your name. You do not realize how beautiful you are, which makes you all the more desirable. Your black cascading hair, your mesmerising hazel eyes, and your perfect figure as you walk like a graceful tigress on the prowl, all does something to me. But I do not want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but if I did not tell you how I feel, I know that I could never have any peace of mind. I am hoping that you feel the same?”

I could not believe my ears. He was talking about me in this way? Where was I to begin? How could I tell him that ever since I saw him, I fell head over heels. He had taken over my mind, body and soul. “I am just as crazy about you, maybe even more. My day would not be complete if I do not run into you and fumble for words. When I am with you or see you, I become immeasurably happy, and when I do not, everything goes gray and meaningless. I want to belong to you, if you’ll have me.”

He smiled that lop-sided grin of his which made my stomach do flip-flops, and kissed me once again. This time it was with a lot more passion and we both knew it was leading somewhere. Somewhere, I could never turn back. Somewhere, that I had chosen to go, without thinking of anyone but myself and that Anand had chosen me. On that patch of grass, I changed from a naive school girl, to a woman who would face the consequences. Somewhere and soon enough I had to become deaf to the rustling of the coconut palms which no longer seemed like the onset of rain, but sounded like whispers. Anand became my strength and weakness, so with him, I knew I could silence all the whispers and my fate would once again be protected by my green guardians.

Backwater Ripples...The royal romance begins Part 1

   Initially, the rustling among the coconut palms sounded like the onset of rain. Rain that would moisten the green earth as it fell from the ocean blue sky. The swaying of the palm trees seemed to wave goodbye to me as I made my way across the blinding neon green paddy fields to school. With coconut oiled hair plaited in two and the usual white cotton shirt and red pleated skirt, I could feel the end-of -year jitters running up and down my spine. I was looking forward to living with my grandmother in the royal city of Thiruvananthapuram( more commonly known as Trivandrum). I had a gut feeling that it was going to be exciting and unforgettable. Looking back, I did not know how right I was. And as can be predicted, my entire world was turned upside down, all in the name of nothing more and nothing less than (what I thought to be) love.

   I always knew that this world was a lot bigger than the green haven I grew up in. It was my curiosity that could never satiate my hunger and thirst for knowledge about anything new. It was this craving for more that led me to him, that led me to a different world that I never dreamed could be mine, that led to who I am today.

   It all started when my Ammumma, my grandmother, known to all as Ambikamai, who worked as the royal nanny, called me to stay with her in Thiruvananthapuram, now more commonly known as Trivandrum. I was waiting to break free of the usual routine, mundane and slowly stifling. A new city with new things to learn seemed like a dream come true. Little did I realise, that dreams do really come true. Naïve and bright-eyed at 18, I could only think about the adventure and fun that awaited me. To me, that was the real classroom, open to exploring, discovering and experiencing. And being the girl I was, I was ready to do it all and more, if I could. My parents were not the ideal role models that a child usually looks up to, however they were mine. But as far as I could tell, they seemed to be relieved to be rid of me. I may have been naïve but I was not ignorant of the way women were treated by society in Kerala, especially in smaller towns. Fortunately, my Ammumma, who was the most educated in my family and a real lady who I have always and continue to idolise, felt such thoughts were backward and ridiculous. And for this reason particularly, I loved her more than anyone else.

   “Gopika! How much you have grown,” she exclaimed and drew me into her warm embrace as soon as I alighted from the train. “You look so much prettier than the princesses. I better keep you under lock and key, lest the evil eye is cast upon you.”

   “Ammumma, you know I get all my good looks from you. In fact I think you look younger than the last time I met you,” I told her with a twinkle in my eye as I saw the twinkle in hers.

“Now I know why you are my favourite grand-daughter,” she confided in me her light brown eyes sparkling with the youth and vitality that always amazed me.

   After such a warm welcome, I did not think I could ever get homesick in such a city. What a sight it was, outside the railway station! As soon as I stepped out, the strong smell of urine, horses, smoke, tar and excitement hung in the air. My hazel eyes drunk in the strange sights before me. It was like a carousel of crowds and clanging bells, hooves and chappals slapping against the cobbled streets, an urban symphony of sorts, strangely, music to my ears. My grandmother, unaware of the spell that the city had already cast on me, was dragging me away, my soft, tiny fingers locked in her larger calloused ones.

   For the first time I understood what it may be like to be part of something much bigger, something which could not only affect me, but everyone around me. It was at that time that I truly felt I was responsible for my actions, no matter how overwhelming or deceptive the huge size of the city looked. My grandmother told me, as I took it all in, “Gopika, a big city does not necessarily mean broad minds.” Eventually and unfortunately, I had to learn that the hard way.

   Disappointed that I had to leave that cobbled circus, Ammumma told me that we were going to where she worked and stayed, the royal palace, where the Thamburan and his family lived. We entered the golden gates, standing out like intimidating watchdogs amid the friendly green of the flirtatious coconut trees. The winding road laden with greenery on all sides, led to a beautiful sprawling palace situated at the top of a tiny hillock. There was a serene yet majestic feel to the area; even the trees seemed to hold their bushy green mops a little higher. We alighted from the tonga and made our way to what I assumed was the servant's quarters where Ammumma's room was. The weather was quite pleasant and on entering Ammumma's simple yet elegantly decorated room, a light cool breeze wafted in, bringing out the aromas of sandalwood, jasmine and coconut oil. My grandmother told me that since it was nearing noon, I had to go to the kitchen with her to help with lunch, but she would introduce me to the royal family first.

   I felt my stomach twist and turn as I walked beside my grandmother. I would never have imagined being so lucky as to meet the Thamburan or his family. Unlike their western counterparts, who I feel are much more receptive to their public, or so I have gathered from the little that I have read, the Kerala royalty lead very private lives, and make very rare public appearances. Ignoring the increasing uneasiness welling up in my stomach, I trudged on, unsure of what to expect but the very worst. The tall ceilings, smooth flooring, brass and wooden furnishings took my breath away and made me feel more like a country bumpkin than ever. Every few seconds, it seemed that I had to tell myself to close my gaping mouth and not to blink my eyes, so as to not miss a single second of the splendour around me. Finally, we reached. Two sturdy wooden doors, with shiny brass knobs gleaming, did nothing to decrease the awkwardness or inadequacy I was feeling. One knows at certain times in life when something is about to happen that will change you forever.

   In my gut, I could tell that this was one of those times. Ammumma with her assuring and comforting smile squeezed my hand before opening the door, and it was then that I saw him for the first time.

   Ammumma called out, “Anand! There is someone I would like you to meet. This is my grand-daughter, Gopika. Gopika, this is the Thamburan's son, Anand.”

   Anand, dressed in a cream and gold mundu and simple white shirt, turned and looked at me his deep-dark chocolate eyes boring into mine. Ammumma, oblivious to this exchange, continued to chatter excitedly, but it was all mindless noise for me in the background. With a lopsided grin, Anand asked me my name, in a voice as smooth as velvet, I could feel my face turning from soft pink to a deep red. Being able to stand without my knees turning weak, as I looked into his infinite pair of brown pools he had for eyes, seemed to be impossible. I immediately cast my eyes down, and murmured a feeble, “Gopika.” My grandmother astonished at my new found shyness stopped her chatter and mentioned how it was the first time she had seen me so tongue-tied. This amused Anand quite a bit as I heard a deep chuckle come from where he was standing causing me to blush a deeper red. Raising my head slowly, I could see the delighted faces of Ammuma and Anand, as they smiled at each other. And before Anand could say anything more, Ammumma remembered that she and I had kitchen duty, so she said goodbye to Anand, and before I turned to join her, I swear I saw him give me a tiny wink. Surprised and slightly bemused at his cheek, I walked alongside my grandmother along the spacious halls, feeling light as a feather. It seemed as though my feet were not touching the ground and all feelings of paranoia and uneasiness were gone.

   My grandmother's questions drew me out of the trance, as she asked me what I thought of Anand. I told her I did not know what to say but he certainly knew how to make a lasting first impression.

A fresh filmy frontier...

Classmates, when I say this word, different things would instantly come to our minds. School, college or even the peers you may still meet even now. But to me, this word means that, plus a little more, actually a lot more. This word is the name of the film which became my threshold to Malayalam cinema and that missing jigsaw piece which helped me to connect with the best friends that I have till date.

This post is about how I,a girl born and brought up with Bollywood and Hollywood cinema, began to appreciate films from the state where I'm originally from, Kerala.

It all started in the summer of 2009 when my family and I had gone to the small town of Mavelikara, to visit my mother's family. We were bored one afternoon and decided to go for a movie, of course English and Hindi were out of the question so Malayalam was the only choice. From previous experiences, I was neither looking forward to nor was I expecting much. I was going because it was better than sitting at home alone.

We reached the theatre and I asked my grand-father which movie we are going for, he told me Classmates. My instant reaction was, what kind of name is that? But then again, Malayalees are known for their “excellent” film name choices, like Kangaroo, Chocolate and Lollipop so this did not seem too bad. After buying popcorn and juice, we sat in the theatre and I was bracing myself for the worst. However to my surprise, the moment the movie started till the very end, my eyes were glued to the screen and I enjoyed every minute of it. This movie was like the surprise gift you get from a person you don't know very well, and it turns out to be your favourite. This film had romance, drama, elements of suspense and to top it, some nice music, quite unusual from the typical Malayalam songs. The story was unlike any other film I had seen so far. And what made me feel so good was I didn't have to ask anyone to translate any of the dialogues for me. I understood it all, it was the best feeling in the world. But so far, I haven't explained what the best part was, or should I say who?

I can proudly say that Malayalam cinema has finally got a heartthrob, who I have plastered my bedroom walls with. Not only does he look handsome, but his acting skills are extremely original and refreshing. His name is Prithviraj, you may have seen him in the Tamil film Raavan, with Aishwarya Rai and Vikram. Anyhow, he had the lead role in Classmates, and it made the film so much more interesting. And ever since I watched that movie, I loved him so much that I began to watch his other films, one after the other. Gradually, I began to realise that Malayalam films aren't that bad. Even if I was slightly biased because I was watching films only because Prithviraj was in it, regardless of that, the stories were unique and characters were very real. As time went by, I decided to watch films starring different actors and soon enough, they began to grow on me. I realised that they weren't idealistic or exaggerated like many of the characters in Hindi movies or predictable like some of my favourite English chick-flicks and romantic comedies. I do admit that sometimes I do need help in understanding what is going on, but overall it has helped me in picking up the Malayalam language and becoming aware of certain traditions and norms which I didn't know about earlier.

So when I joined college later that year, in Trivandrum, I was able to talk with a lot more confidence and ease to my classmates. I'm sure I surprised many of them when I told them how many Malayalam movies I had watched. Of course, they all had different tastes and their own personal favourites, but just the fact that I had watched some, proved that I wasn't too much of an outsider and it made them feel more comfortable around me,and vice-versa.

Nevertheless, allow me to return to the film, that started it all. Frankly speaking, Classmates was so much like the college life I had experienced in Mar Ivanios. The college parties with rallying and voting, cultural functions, closing college because of various reasons, the manner in which students behave, and most importantly the happiness and fun times I had with my classmates. And till date, whenever I hear a song from the film or see it on television, I think back to the first time when I had seen it and consider it a good-luck charm, because not only did it help me get in touch with my Malayalee roots, but I've also had the good fortune to have great classmates ever since. Therefore,give your regional films a shot, and embrace your mother-tongue, you never know, you may learn something new, and even learn to love it like how I have!

Coming home...

 

  My stay in Kerala was unforgettable. Initially, I thought that I was in hell because the town I was staying in was dead after 8 o'clock. Ironically, it was the capital city, so I thought, how can it be so boring? Where were all the malls and fast food eating places? Why were there so many medical stores, book stores, and what was the obsession with gold all about? I went for a movie at the theatre there, and instead of trailers, there were nine or ten different gold showroom advertisements! I eventually found out that the main hang-out was the zoo or museum grounds? Malls were yet to be built and there was one burger joint, where we used to and still continue to be their best customers. Where had I come to? Is it too late to go back to Chennai? 
   Unfortunately for me, school wasn't any better. From a state syllabus school,I had joined an ICSE board school that too, in 9th standard, in other words, I was in for a rough time! It took me a while to find a good group of friends and for the teachers to realise I was not a spoiled N.R.I brat, but had some amount of grey matter and good sense. Luckily, I became friends with the other 'new kids' who were also from outside India and we could easily empathise with each other. By the way, we still keep and touch and they are still my very close friends.(Shout-out to Laks and Sidds!) 
   I remember how I met my closest friend till date and partner in crime. She had done something to her eyebrows and I had asked her out of curiosity and pure innocence, whether it was some kind of Indian custom. Obviously, it was not, but that had broken the ice, and we've been the best of friends ever since.(Shout-out to M.R.P.)! Even, in the apartment building I stayed, I made a great bunch of friends. We would play football in the parking lot every evening and would participate in the cultural functions enthusiastically.( Shout-out to V.View!!!) 
   So slowly, things got a lot better and I began to enjoy my new home. And when, I joined college, things really became amazing! I was able to do what I want and had, what I think to be, the best set of professors  who knew their stuff ! Those three years were the one of the best times of my life. I got a crazy, wacky, group of friends and we somehow managed to freak out without allowing the issue of "what will people think" get in the way. I made friends with my seniors as well as my classmates. Of course, it isn't the same way in which I see undergraduates enjoy themselves in a larger cosmopolitan city, like going clubbing or frequenting malls and so on, but we had lots of fun just the same; By organising some celebration within the department, sharing our lunches( fighting for the best food), walking around campus, or just talking and laughing about the silliest, tiniest and insignificant things. And after our excursion, we never wanted the good times to stop! (Shout-out to Eng Dept at M.I.C!
   Soon, too soon actually, it came time for our farewell, which happened on Valentine's Day (bittersweet I know!!). We all were devastated at the fact that we wouldn't be seeing each other on a daily basis. Thanks to Facebook, email and texting, we all still stay in touch, but it isn't the same as actually being together like before. Still whenever we meet, it's like coming home. And it's that feeling I get whenever I meet anyone from there, that intimacy and closeness can never be replaced and those people and that place can never and will never be forgotten. I have fallen in love with that town, gold showrooms and all! 

Shout-out to TVM!

"We're you're friends..we're you're friends to the bitter eeeeeend"

       

      No matter where you go and how awesome you think you are, friends really do make life worth it! Yes, I know it must sound very cliché and you must have heard it thousands of times; from songs, films and even ridiculously boring television shows, you know the ones that you watch because nothing else is on at the time. But even the best and most bustling city could redefine loneliness and when you're new to town, getting through that 'I don't know anyone and no one knows you yet' phase is the worst! And having gone through my own share of relocations to different countries, this is something which never changes, no matter what! Make one really good friend and you are set!

        It opens a social world like no other...it's similar to a domino effect, once one leans your way, the others consequently do the same, and suddenly you are unsheathed from that cloak of invisibility which you seemed to be disguised in. Your confidence grows and soon you start falling in love with the city you live in and somehow the world doesn't seem as dark and gloomy any more. All the whining, complaining, and bitching to your parents about how all the people in class are stuck-up and no one really gets you, goes out the window!

Of course, finding out who your true friends are is a whole other issue and battle in itself. It may take a while and may be initially hard to accept the fact that they could be using you or even going behind your back. But when you do find that person who holds your hand, or comforts you by stating that it's their loss to not know the real you, or could just simply listen as you rave and storm about, it really is worth it. All the hard feelings, bitterness and betrayal somehow vanishes and that space is filled. Because that person may not have been someone you liked initially or someone who didn't like you initially, or you had no idea you had so much in common because of what your “friends” told you...in the end, I believe friends somehow find each other, and somehow stick, through thick and thin, ex-gfs and bfs, quarrels with parents, bad grades and even worse bosses, demanding family life and even more demanding in-laws. 

          So this lucky no. 7  post is for anyone who believes in the existence of true friendship!And for all those amazing friends of mine, you know who you are, because I don't even have to tell you, the smile on your face will!

Apart from the accent...

"My name is Shruti and I just moved here from the U.S."

This was the first thing I had said to many people when I came to India, and I never used to get irritated when this question was always asked..that was not my pet peeve...it was something else that I had to bear and tolerate over the years in my stay here,the constant teasing and mocking of my accent.
I mean what could I do? I had lived in countries where words were pronounced differently and spoken in different ways...with certain colloquialisms and slang...and of course I had been used to this manner of speaking for most of my life...so it's not like I could turn it on and off like a faucet...and just for your information, it wasn't like only they had an issue with my so-called 'American twang', I couldn't really understand half of what they were saying also...I would either be left confused and perplexed, angry and irritated...or in most cases, amused and trying to hold in my laughter...
I had a Geography teacher when I was in the 9th grade, and I could never stop giggling whenever she said certain words like tectonic plates, or erosion, or cartography...basically any 'o' sounds, and I would be in splits...after sometime I got used to it...I know that may sound a little mean and a bit cruel, but hey, it wasn't like I was being treated fairly either...
However after some time, I got used to their sing-song English and certain affectionate terms, like 'di' or 'ma'...such things tend to grow on you...and gradually, my twang and drawl began to reduce, but has not, till date, disappeared altogether...it is not as prominent as before but noticeable enough to understand that I had spent sometime outside India, luckily or unluckily for me...
But I do think it's a skill being able to understand different accents from different people and I pride myself on being able to understand all kinds of Western accents and Indian accents...and also how to make people feel comfortable if they do feel conscious of it...
On the other hand, some people actually liked the way I speak, they think it's cool or exotic, of course it feels great when someone says that,and I will never tire of hearing that either...:D
All jokes apart, I definitely know and can never forget how it feels to be be treated like an outsider just because of the way you may speak, irrespective of whether the pronunciation is correct or incorrect,because it happens till date to me...
So next time you hear a "foreign accent", instead of trying to be a smart ass and mimicking the person, try to understand what they're trying to say...you never know when you'll have to move, and according to them, you'll be the one with the strange accent!

An 'I' opener

I was lucky enough the other day, to watch a very interesting( yes, interesting) documentary...it opened with haunting Arabic music, and the lines saying," U.S and Iraq are on the brink of war..."and then the next line packing a powerful punch saying, "to 40 million Arab viewers..."
Immediately, my attention was captured and taken hostage for the next forty minutes...I was taken on a roller-coaster ride of emotions and horror..I was aware of the general state of affairs that took place during the time between the U.S and Iraq, however I was never exposed to any other perspective. 
Al Jazeera, launched in 1996, is one of the most controversial Arabic news channels and was called as "Osama Bin Laden's mouthpiece" by former U.S President George Bush.
The viewpoints of the Senior Producer Samir Khader and firebrand journalist Hassan Ibrahim are conveyed along with the opinions of an American Lieutenant , in charge of the Central Command,the American military headquarters of the east. 
Another aspect which I had not thought of was that the media people of Al-Jazeera would be under enormous amounts of pressure and apparently have their hands tied when it comes to showing the Iraqi troops in bad light. However the channel does not hesitate to air the American soldiers' being inhumane or cruel. They do not even think twice about showing very graphic and disturbing images of violence or complete squalor.
What fascinated me was how many assumptions that one side would make about the other...so many misunderstandings either due to lack of or an unwillingness to communicate.
Khader makes a general statement about humans, "People like victory, they don't like justification."
All in all, I learned that one cannot judge anyone or any place just by assuming that since their opinion or ways are different, they are wrong, and we are right. If anything, one should be more open and awake...Khader stated that he wishes to "teach the people something called democracy...to wake up rigid society..."   
I feel that this is a lesson that we all should learn...I hope we wake up soon from our seemingly eternal slumber!

Monday Blues

Briiing! The alarm goes off at six a.m. waking Sidharth, an eleventh standard student, from his six hour slumber. Monday mornings have always been a wet blanket to the fun and enjoyment he had over the weekend. For him, it’s another five long dreary days till the next weekend. Adding the last minute touches to the Mathematics assignment, Sidharth still has to iron his uniform, not to mention eat a wholesome breakfast in the next fifteen minutes to avoid missing the bus, while toting a backpack, weighing about half a kilo.

On the other hand, his sister, a final year college student, leisurely wakes up at half past seven and takes her time to get dressed in comfortable attire, for another enjoyable week of studying a subject which she’s always been passionate about. Having had the time to complete her homework over the weekend and having eaten to her fill, she has lots of time to spare and decides to read the newspaper before leaving for the junction to catch her bus.

As anyone can see, there is a conspicuous contrast between the lives of a college student and a school student. However this is just one example, to rationalize the point I’m trying to make, this is what a few students, both college and school, had to say: “College has given me more beautiful memories of unity and fun times. Attacks on other’s lunches, bunking of classes, celebrating small events, etc were all things which couldn’t be done in school.” Another view is that in school you learn the tricks of the trade and it would do you good to be nice to the teachers as they evaluate your papers whereas in college one has to apply what you have learned earlier and you can afford to be yourself as your professors do not grade you. School for some consist of an endless series of late nights and early mornings spent either at tuition or school and if there is time in between, it is at home, cramming as much information into their tiny little noggin. Mothers of college students have different problems than that of school students normally not related to academics. Each has its advantages and disadvantages but generally mothers tend to be more relaxed when their child has entered college because the ward seems to have attained a level of maturity and common sense and generally, can be trusted more to handle various problems. Psychologists say that school going children face as much stress as any adult undergoes, however unbelievable that may sound. Teachers are under a lot of pressure to finish the prescribed syllabus in a specific amount of time which can lead to carelessness and monotony. This in turn causes the student’s interest to decline and a growing hatred develops towards the subject which gradually turns into hatred towards school altogether.

As T.S Eliot once said, “No one can become really educated without having pursued some study in which he took no interest. For it is part of education to interest ourselves in subjects for which we have no aptitude.”

Therefore, school students, just remember that when you enter college, gone will be the days when your mind, body, heart and soul rebel at the beginning of a new week. Gone will be the times when you just could not find it in yourself to stand for another strenuous and droning day of classes which made no sense to you, but pulled through because of friends and family. No more will on Sunday nights gloom, misery, and a genuine desire to stop time, flood your consciousness. You will be able to take pleasure in devouring the sweet fruit of your labour as a school student, and that is by enjoying the bright hued days of college which will be with you forever. After all it is said that, "Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school."

-Anonymous.

Therefore get ready for your education to begin, as soon as you leave behind the world of uniforms and chalk dust to enter a new world of coloured variety and a plethora of professors awaiting your questions with open arms.

Saved by the bell??

June 2003...the month in which I stepped into my 1st school in India. It was a moment I had been dreading but had been equally curious. Will the teachers be as nice?or mean?How will my classmates be?? Will I have any friends?? These were just a few of the million thoughts that were running through my head the night before my first day of school.
We had gone school supply shopping which was quite normal, but this time was a little different. My schoolbooks' list seemed to be never-ending! I was going to join the 8th grade and we were going to learn botany and zoology?Not to mention how complicated the Mathematics textbook looked. I was looking forward to start French once again and the English books, I read the moment I got them. I realised at least there would be a few subjects I could do okay in.
 Another major issue, was the awkwardness and dislike I had towards my uniform. Why would anyone in their right mind subject children to this kind of discouragement to freedom of expression. Yes, I knew it made everyone equal and would be identified as a student, but at least have the colours be a little bright?!Nope, it was a dirty tan colour pinafore(was I in kindergarten?Who in the 21st century at my age wears this style anymore?!)and an even more putrid red and brown checked shirt, along with ugly brown socks and black (girly...yucky)ballerina shoes...EWW!! Geez, I was already feeling suffocated, who knew what would be in store for me the next day?
Spartan Matriculation Higher Secondary School...was it going to be as overwhelming as it sounded? Well, I certainly felt like a soldier going into battle where I would face unknown people, who may speak an alien(the native)language( Tamil known: nil), unfamiliar territory and questionable food. Yes, I know I am sounding a little dramatic and a bit of an foreign-return brat, but I had no idea what to expect, so expecting the worst, we arrived at tall, wide steel gates, leading me to that different world.
I walked in and the first thing that hit me was the huge crowd of brown-skinned faces and black hair! It had been a while since I had seen so many Indian kids in such a large group! Talk about individuality, somehow I felt that even though I had blackish hair and brown skin, I still would stand out, and deep down I hoped I would not drown in this 'Indian Ocean'. I knew how to swim but these waters were unfamiliar, so crossing my fingers, I took the plunge, and hoped for the best.
The classrooms were plain, bare and to my surprise laden with wooden benches and desks, and how can I forget, a blackboard! I thought, I had stepped into some kind of time-machine, I couldn't believe that in such a huge school, chalk and erasers would be used. I had to grow accustomed to the soreness of my rear-end caused  by the hard wooden furniture, and also to the back pain due to my bulging backpack. Had no one ever heard of lockers?
Anyway, every morning we would assemble in the courtyard for morning assembly including prayer time. This was quite interesting. We had a songbook and I quite enjoyed listening to the choir and singing along, it was the lengthy prayers that was unbearable at first.I made up for all the masses I may have missed while being in the U.S. and Canada, all 14 years of it!
As the first day passed, I was introduced to each teacher, as the new student from the U.S., even if I had not mentioned where I was from, my accent did it for me. I can go onto recount the many experiences which baffled, frustrated, saddened and even excited me. Unfortunately, I seem to only remember how I managed to adjust to the new method of studying, new ways of interacting with teachers and classmates, and eventually new close group of friends. I even won my first competition, got 1st prize while reciting Eliot's Macavity: the Mystery Cat, which of course, led me to being called Macavity, ever since...which I kind of liked.
As I had mentioned earlier, the initial few months were very difficult but because of my family and finding a good set of friends, I began to love my new life. Apart from that, Chennai was a bustling city, with lots of places to go and see, so it was not like I had arrived at a place where I was completely bored and missed out on the latest English movies and music. Well, not yet, at least.
As luck would have it, we had to move, yes, again.Spartan was my 12th school and St.Thomas Residential School, Trivandrum, Kerala, would be the 13th...lucky or unlucky only time would tell...but that's a whole new story(post)!

Unlimited

Through my eyes of brown,

I see limits and restraints abound.

In every blade of grass,

Every flap of the dove's wing,

Every foaming wave of the sea.

And most unfortunately and undoubtedly, me.

The world may turn,

So days may pass by,

But we are lagging behind, why?!

Sinking into the quicksand of worry and ruckus,

The rope gets tighter and shorter,

Gradually everything is slipping,

Slowly, right beneath us.

Fair Justice lend us your hand.

Lest we become another lost grain of sand.

Yet another lost grain of sand, whose voices are unheard,

But blows with the wind, meek and lily-livered.

Unseen, unknown, and under-estimated

Without anyone's concern for its troubled tale,

Yet still you all should remember this:

It takes only one grain of sand to tip the scale.

And it all began...

"We'll be moving back to India, your father and I discussed it. We think it's the right thing to do at this time, for everyone."

"WHAT???!!!But what did I do wrong? Am I being punished? I promise I'll get higher grades, whatever you say I'll do. Wait a minute, is this a joke? You're kidding right, Amma?"

This was my reaction when I first heard that we were returning to India, for good. Sounds a little dramatic right? But what can I say, India for me was a place I would visit during holidays and leave after a month or so. I had heard stories about the difficult school life and could not imagine giving up all my friends, being on the sports teams, and so on, for living in a place I had so little knowledge about.

Not only that, even the materialistic things, like certain foods, the endless number of shops, unhealthy junk food,etc.

Of course, in the beginning, I was determined to stay, but in the end, I had no choice, and to move away from everything that I was used to.

It would be easy and perfect to say that I immediately adjusted to the new surroundings and had no issues at all. But let's be realistic, that was not how it happened at all!

I did not understand why people had the need to mark their territory like dogs at public places, especially at railway stations.And at that time,the Central Railway Station in Chennai, was what I thought to be, one large fire hydrant. Of course, we had landed at the airport, but I'm just narrating what happened when I remember travelling by train for the first time.

I am sorry to say that the hot dry weather did not help the general odours that were floating about the atmosphere. It does not pass you by,oh no, it hits you like a massive tidal wave of stink.

After finally getting to our car and my father having used all his wits and energy as he haggled with the coolie on the sum to pay him, we were on our way.

Do traffic rules exist??I was asking myself as I gaped in wonder and mild fright at the strange ways the cars, auto-rickshaws, motorcycles, and even pedestrians, seemed to weave about, in some kind of weird organised chaos. Another question that kept on popping up in my, was why do people honk the horn so much? Did they think that doing so would make the rest of the traffic disappear, or magically change the traffic lights from red to green?

It was all so strange and new, and I felt so lost.

If this is how I felt now,I wonder what school was going to be like ?